Trust Me
by xbeautifulxdisasterxkate
Summary: "John didn't say anything..." "John isn't expecting me, Mr. Holmes."  Stranger things have happened...  SherlockxOCxJohn Rated M for future chapters
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own or have any affiliation with BBC's Sherlock or Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman. I wish...

The light scent of lavender and vanilla wafted through 221B Baker street just strong enough for Sherlock Holmes, who had just arrived home, to pick up on. He stepped into the sitting form, expecting to find an enemy or someone boring who wanted his help. Instead of finding what he had expected, he encountered a petite woman. She sat on his sofa, mobile phone in her hand; she didn't look up at him, hyper-focusing on the text she was replying to.

"Can I help you?" he asked as he removed his coat and scarf.

The woman on his sofa gave no reply. Sherlock looked her over; she looked neat and professional, but she was obviously not here on business. She was ignoring him, or, at the very least, had selective hearing. The way she focused on the mobile in her hand suggested that the person she was texting was important to her. Sherlock was curious.

A moment later, his phone alerted him to the text he had just received. He pulled out his mobile and read the message.

-Where are you? –JW

-Baker Street. Come immediately. We have company. –SH

-Is everything all right? –JW

-Fine. Just come. –SH

Sherlock pocked the phone and looked back at the strange woman. She was looking back at him this time.

"Hello." she said, a smile spreading across her face.

"Hello…"

"I suppose you would be Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes… Who are you?"

"Christine."

"Christine who?" he asked, beginning to get irritated.

"Just Christine for now."

"You're an American. Recently moved here, I'd say. Why?"

"Running from something."

"Running from what?"

"People who wish me dead."

"People who know what you saw."

"Yes."

"Why did you come here?"

Christine smiled, "I came to see John. You're just a bonus."

"John didn't mention anything."

"I had to leave the states suddenly, Mr. Holmes. John isn't expecting me."

The two sized each other up for a few moments.

"You're a renowned pianist. Twenty-six years old. You know John because of his blog. When I walked in you were texting him."

"Very good, Mr. Holmes. You can tell all of that just by looking at me?"

"Yes but you knew that. Didn't you, Christine?"

"That and more."  
>"What more could you possibly know?"<p>

"Coming from you, that's a stupid question." she replied, giving him an cheeky grin.

The sound of footsteps quickly climbing the stairs ended their back and forth for the time being. Sherlock walked off to the kitchen, more than slightly irritated by the visitor. Christine rose to her feet when John entered the room; she could tell that he was slightly out of breath.

"I was at work, Sherlock, what did you-" he stopped mid-sentence when he spotted the familiar face.

"Hello, John. Recognize me?" she greeted, he voice soft and sweet.

"Christine, hi. I wasn't aware you'd be visiting."

"I wanted to surprise you. Sherlock got here first and apparently called you off work. Don't think he liked me being here before he got in."

"How did you get in?"

"Your landlady. All I had to tell her was that I'm a friend of yours and wanted to surprise you with a visit."

John began to smile and pulled her into a hug, "I'm happy to see you. It's great to be able to really touch you. How long are you in town for?"

Christine shrugged, "Possibly for a long time. It isn't a temporary thing, John, I can tell you that."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"I recently acquired information that can send my brother and six of his friends to prison. Some of them have been out to silence me."

"What information?"

"Gang rape and murder."

He hugged Christine again, hoping no one would get to her; hoping Sherlock would help protect her.

"I know what you're thinking, John, and it's always a possibility."

"You came to us for help?"

Sherlock sniffed, "No, she came to you for sanctuary. I have no problem with her staying here, John, but she'll be staying in your room with you. After all, she is your pet."

Christine extricated herself from John's embrace and stalked over to the 6-foot-tall Sherlock. She stood toe-to-toe with him for a moment before reaching up and smacking him in the back of his head.

"I am no one's pet. Say it again and you'll get much worse than a smack in the head."

"Well, well, you're feisty aren't you?" he mocked.

The two irritated each other to no end it seemed. Sherlock was having fun, though he'd never admit it; Christine enjoyed it as well, but never let it show in John's presence. For the remainder of the day, John kept his visitor away from the detective as well as he could. That night when John went upstairs to go to bed, he found Christine waiting for him. He swallowed hard and closed the door behind him. He noticed that she was in nothing but a tight-fitting, black tank top and shorts. Her thin, petite form was outlined almost perfectly beneath the fabric.

"Like what you see, John?"

"Very much, yes..."

The playful smile that spread across her face did nothing to calm him down. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. All of the different ways he could have her ran through his mind at once. Christine could see his mind racing and rested her hand over his. She shifted to lie on her back; she moved his hand to her waist and watched him closely to gage his reaction. Slowly, as if he were unsure of himself, John leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. When he felt her respond positively, he began to get rougher. He ran his hands over her clothed body, longing for skin-to-skin contact. He moved his moth against hers, tongue brushing against her lower lip. She sighed into the kiss and allowed him access to her mouth. After playing with her tongue for a bit, he pulled away quickly and looked down at her.

"Christine, I'm sorry about Sherlock. You'll get used to the way he acts after a while."

"I expected him to act that way after everything you told me. I'll try to play nicely with him from now on."

John climbed over her and flopped down on his back, pulling her into his arms. She slipped her hand into his shirt and lightly ran her fingers over his chest. He shivered and rested his hand over the lump in his shirt that was her hand.

"Do you know how long it's been, John?"

"How long since what?"

"Since I was last touched by a man."

John froze for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. He swallowed hard, "No, I-I don't know."

"Six years."

"No way that's true."

"Honest, it is." she said.

Christine tilted her head up slightly to get at his ear. She nibbled his earlobe, feeling his body shiver each time her teeth scraped against his sensitive skin.

"Enjoy it now that I'm actually doing it to you?" she asked playfully.

"You have to ask?"


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock lay awake in his bed listening to the talking and whispering from above. He knew Christine was teasing the doctor. He found her both interesting and infuriating. She was a young pianist, but she had a comeback for almost everything he said; almost as annoying as John's blog. Eventually, everything quieted down upstairs. Sherlock's mind drifted to the smack she had given him earlier that day and placed a hand on the back of his head. She was brave, he'd give her that. Of course, she could probably take him on and hold her on if she wanted to. He wondered if Mycroft had seen her with them, but realized that he had to have. Always spying on him and getting into his business, Mycroft, the elder Holmes brother, knew virtually everything about his younger brother and John Watson. Sherlock didn't care for him or his ways of obtaining information much. He soon found that even briefly thinking about his brother made him feel ill. The detective shivered and went to sleep.

The next morning, Sherlock awoke to an empty flat and a note that read:

_Sherlock,_

_We've gone out to get the shopping. I'll try to keep John from fighting with the machine. _

_-Christine_

For some reason, Sherlock was slightly irritated with how familiar she was with his friend. He sat down in a huff and waited for them to return. A long while after he had picked up a book to keep himself entertained, Christine returned. Sherlock could tell that she was upset; that would have been obvious to anyone who caught sight of her.

"Where's John?"

"Who gives a damn where he is?"

"Let me guess, you found out that he's seeing someone else."

Christine nodded slowly, tears rolling down her cheeks. Sherlock stared at her, not caring if she thought he was being rude. He'd never watched anyone cry over John before and it disturbed him a bit; he wanted her to stop. He, for once, felt just a tiny bit sorry for her.

"Christine, all of the pieces were there. You only saw what you wanted to see." Sherlock pointed out, prepared to be told to piss off.

He heard her sigh and lie down on her stomach on the sofa.

"You're right, Sherlock…"

A smug grin crossed his face, "Of course I'm right."

"Why wouldn't he tell me?"

"Because he's an idiot. Practically everyone is."

"I'd agree with that right about now. What's it like, Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"What's it like to completely ignore your emotions?"

"Emotions get in the way. Ignoring them makes for clear judgment."

"You make an excellent point.

"Yes I do." he said, not looking up from his book.

Christine sat in silence with Sherlock for another half hour, watching him read, think, and analyze everything he saw. For some reason, she enjoyed watching him. By watching him so intensely she was able to see how tense the muscles in his neck were.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm."

"Aren't you just a bit uncomfortable?"

"Does that matter?"

"Well, it's just, I can see the muscles in your neck."

"And?"

"They're very tense. It's got to be uncomfortable."

"What can you do about it?"

Christine sat cross legged in her seat on the sofa, "Come sit on the floor in front of me. I'll show you."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her, skeptical as always.

"I'm not going to hurt you or try to jump you, I promise. Actually, I'd jump you if you asked, but you won't." she said, attempting to reassure him.

He sighed and relocated to the spot on the floor in front of her. At her touch he stiffened and his hold on the book tightened. He almost never allowed anyone (especially a woman) to touch him that way, but he had wanted to see what her solution to his problem would be. Sherlock felt her begin to gently massage his neck and shoulders. It was pleasant and a bit painful.

"You've got quite a knot, Sherlock."

He didn't reply; he'd known that. After a few minutes of being massaged and rubbed, Sherlock realized that he'd been on the same sentence since she'd started.

"How are you doing that?" he asked.

"Doing what?"

"Distracting me."

"Am I distracting you?"

"Obviously."

"Not so obvious to me, Sherlock."

"I haven't turned the page in ten minutes. Either you're distracting me or I've been side-tracked."

"Oh… Well, maybe you're distracted because you like what I'm doing."

"What?"

"Does it feel good to you?"

"Yes…" he said, almost struggling to admit that he enjoyed the massage.

"That's why you're distracted."

At that realization, Sherlock furrowed his brow and crossed his arms over his chest. Christine smiled; he was cute when he was pouting.

The detective allowed Christine to massage the rest of his back after his shoulders and neck felt better. For that though, she'd had to move. Now, she sat behind him on the floor, him sitting between her legs. Sherlock didn't seem to mind their position or the fact that she'd slipped her hands under his shirt. That is, he didn't mind until John walked in and spotted them.

"What the hell is going on?"

Sherlock attempted to get to his feet, but Christine pulled him back down before he could.

"You can get up when I finish, Sherlock." she said.

"No. I'm getting up now. We have company."

"Do we?" Christine asked, not paying attention to the third presence in the room.

"Yes. John's home."

Christine sighed and allowed Sherlock to get to his feet; she stood up slowly not long after he did.

"Christine explain this." John demanded irritably.

"Simple. You hurt me so I came back here. I watched Sherlock read for a while and I noticed that his muscles were tense. I gave him a massage, we discovered that I have the ability to be distracting, I continued afore mentioned massage, and then you got here."

"Where were your hands up his shirt?"

"Would you rather my hands be in his trousers?"

"No…"

"Then shut it."

Sherlock had perched himself in his chair with his book and was trying to ignore their bickering. His face had turned slightly pink when she'd mentioned having her hands in his trousers.

"I don't see who you're so upset, John." he said, finally deciding to speak up, "From what I understand you just told Christine you're with someone."

John was speechless; Sherlock had a point. Sherlock noticed the look on Christine's face and knew her intentions immediately. As she crossed the room to stand toe-to-toe with John, Sherlock followed her.

"Just in case the fist one didn't get it through your thick skull…"

She raised her hand to slap him and struck at him, but her hand never made contact. Sherlock had caught her hand just before she hit him.

"I don't think he needs another reminder that he's been a jerk."

Christine turned to look at Sherlock, looking into his eyes for the first time, really looking.

"S-Sherlock, you can let go of my wrist now." she whispered, "May I borrow your scarf?"

"Why?"

"It's chilly out and I'm going for a walk."

He handed her the scarf and watched her walk out the door. John sighed and shook his head.

"Thanks for that. When we ran into Anne at the shop and she found out she slapped me and left. Anne had a lot ob questions about that…"

Sherlock grinned and sat back down with his book.

Christine walked around the block a few times, thinking about everything that had happened that day. The thought of John was almost enough to make her cry; the scent of Sherlock on the scarf was almost enough to make her smile. She was conflicted.

_I can't possibly have some sort of weird crush on both of them…can I?_ she thought. Christine knew that Sherlock was a brutally honest, high-functioning sociopath, but today he'd shown her that he had moments when he acted almost human. Eventually, she began to calm down and come to terms with how she felt. When she got back around to 221B Baker Street, she smiled and went back inside.


	3. Chapter 3

As the weeks passed and Christine and John began to get close again, Sherlock found himself feeling very strange. At first, he thought it could be an emotion, but Sherlock didn't think he had those. Christine got to be alone with Sherlock whenever John had a date. She kept him occupied and kept him from disturbing John. Sherlock never stood a chance when he was alone with her. She'd take his phone and wallet and put them where he wouldn't be able to get them. He would pout for a while, but stopped when she asked him to play his violin. One night, though, John came home from his date early and found Christine and Sherlock on opposite sides of the room, noticeably annoyed with each other.

"What'd you do, Sherlock?" he asked.

"Why do you automatically assume I did something?"

"It's almost always you in one way or another."

"Why are you home so early, John?" Christine asked softly.

"Went downhill pretty quickly after that text Sherlock sent. Anne and me…we're done."

"What else did he do tonight?" she asked, glaring in Sherlock's general direction.

"Rather not discuss it at the moment. Will you come up to my room with me for a moment so we can talk?"

Christine was by no means stupid and she'd learned a thing or two from Sherlock, though she hated to admit it.

"I can't John. Arguing with him has drained me completely. I don't think I'd make it up the stairs. I'm sorry about you and your girl." she answered, kissing his cheek and walking past him to go shower. She took Sherlock's robe from the hook on the back of his door, and then went to shower.

Christine walked back into the sitting room about half an hour later wearing nothing but Sherlock's thin, silky, navy-coloured dressing gown. Sherlock glared at her for a moment, then left the room in a huff; John was nowhere in sight.

Now that she was finally alone, Christine stretched out on the sofa and watched crap telly for a while. She heard banging in the detective's room for a few minutes, but he quieted down quickly. He'd left his violin out; Christine picked it up and began trying to play the instrument the way he did. She managed to play half of "No One Would Listen," an outtake from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera, when she heard soft breathing from the hallway behind her. She stopped and looked at the figure shrouded in darkness.

"How do you know how to play?"

"Thought you were mad at me." She said, putting the violin down on the coffee table.

"Answer the question."

"I watched you play, remember? Certain movements of your hands produce certain sounds. I've memorized them and, well, you know the rest. Honestly, I think you knew all of that already."

"You're right; I did know all of that. I also know that you're naked under that. Why? Trying to seduce me?"

"Now, if I was trying you would know. So, no. And if I was trying how could you be sure you were my intended target? I'm not trying at all, but let me tell you something. Sherlock, one day you're going to get curious. You're going to want it; you're going to want to know what it feels like. When you do, I'll be here."

Sherlock smiled as she left the room, "Oh, we'll see…"

_Oh, she's clever…very clever, _he thought as he walked back to his room.

John woke with a jolt; he was being shaken awake by a woman in a familiar robe. He rubbed his eyes and squinted up at her.

"Christine? What are you doing? Why are you wearing Sherlock's dressing gown?"

"Yes. Waking you up. Stole it from him."

"When exactly did you steal it?"

"Before I showered. Is that really important?"

"Guess not. Why'd you wake me up?"

"Can I sleep in your bed?"

"Um…sure, I guess."

Christine smiled and climbed into the unoccupied side of the bed and wrapped herself in the blankets. John looked at her for a moment, smiling and shaking his head. She was truly a confusing woman.

John woke up a few hours later and almost panicked when he saw the robe curled up next to him. He wondered if Christine had worn the robe to mess with him. He got out of bed, got his clothes together and went to shower. The morning carried on as smoothly as possible considering Sherlock had nothing to do. Christine stayed in bed until she got bored; she dressed herself in some of John's clothes, trying to look as feminine as she could in them, and plodded downstairs. She'd left Sherlock's robe lying on the bed. The detective was slumped in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin; the doctor was on the sofa with a cup of tea reading the paper.

"Morning, boys." she said sweetly.

Sherlock didn't reply or acknowledge her presence, but she'd come to expect that of him. John, however, gave her a pleasant smile and a warm 'good morning.' Christine sat down with John and read the articles with him. There wasn't anything that interested her, but she read anyway; she didn't have anything else to do. It took John a while, but he eventually noticed what she was wearing. The grin on his face stretched from ear to ear. He didn't say it, but he thought she looked quite good in his clothes. Sherlock, on the other hand, paid her no mind. His eyes were closed; he didn't know what she was wearing and he didn't care. All he wanted was something interesting to do.

Around one in the afternoon, masculine footsteps could be heard bounding up the stairs toward the flat. Moments later, a man with graying hair entered the sitting room. The man had Sherlock's full attention.

"What's happened?" the detective asked.

"Double homicide. No apparent murder weapon, no forensic evidence, and-oh, hello. I didn't realize you had company." the man answered, getting side tracked when he caught sight of Christine.

"She's not important, Lestrade, ignore her. Text me the address I'll meet you there."

"Oh, come on, Sherlock! Won't you introduce me to your friend?" she asked, trying to get on the detectives nerves.

Sherlock gritted his teeth, "This is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, and he's no more my friend than you are, Christine."

The young woman grinned sweetly, "Somewhere deep down you know you like me, Sherlock."

"No I don't…" he mumbled irritably.

"Sure… It's a pleasure to meet you, DI Lestrade."

"The pleasure is all mine, Christine."

"Can we go now?" Sherlock asked, sounding a bit like an impatient child.

John got to his feet and began to leave, "Want to come, Christine?"

"No, John, thank you. I'll be fine until you two get back."

He shrugged and left with Sherlock and Lestrade. Christine settled in for a long, quiet afternoon alone and intended to enjoy it.

Night began to fall and Sherlock and John hadn't returned. Christine knew that they could take care of themselves, but she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She felt a bit like she was being watched. The room was well lit and the telly was on, but she didn't feel comfortable moving from the sofa. Heavy, masculine footsteps pounded up the stairs suddenly, startling the small woman. _Oh, thank goodness, _she thought, _they're home. _The man who burst through the door moments after the footsteps reached the landing was not who she had expected at all; Christine screeched, startled by the stranger.

"Wh-Who are you?"


	4. Chapter 4

The man put his finger to his lips and shook his head, a smug look on his face. He was tall and had dark hair. This man wore a perfectly tailored suit; he looked a lot like a businessman. He looked out the windows cautiously.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

"And if I am…?"

"You act like you don't know who I am."

"I don't! How could I possibly know you?"

"Now, Christine, calm down. I'm only here to talk and ask a small favor of you."

"Tell me who you are and how you know my name. Then we'll talk." She said as she rose to her feet.

The stranger sighed; Christine stood her ground, glaring at him.

"Fine, Christine." He said finally. "We'll do this your way. I am Mycroft Holmes. I occupy a minor position in the British government. I keep video surveillance on my brother and John Watson. When I was first told of your presence here I did some research. None of the information I have on you will be used for anything but informative purposes, I assure you."

Christine stiffened, "How much do you know?"

"I know just about everything there is to know about you."

"Mr. Holmes, I don't know who you think I am but-"

"I think you're a delightful young pianist who just so happens to be running from a terrible situation. I can help you." Mycroft interjected; he could see the question in her eyes. "I require inside information on my brother and Dr. Watson. I will provide protection for you in exchange for the information I need."

"You want me to spy on Sherlock and John?" she asked softly.

"'Spy' is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as observing them and reporting your findings."

Christine shook her head. She was glad for the offer of protection, but the price was just too high. She couldn't spy on them. He could call it what he wanted, but it was all the same to her. "I will not, Mr. Holmes. I can't."

Mycroft nodded, "Unfortunate… It's strange the way you and Dr. Watson trust him and care about what happens to him."

"Why do you keep surveillance on your brother?"

"I am concerned for his well being." He answered, looking at his watch. "I have to be going. Goodnight, Christine Long."

"Goodnight, Mycroft Holmes."

After the intimidating elder Holmes brother left, Christine felt better. She felt alone even thought she now knew about the video surveillance on the flat. That was about as interesting as her night got. She ordered Chinese takeaway, paid the man who delivered it, and ate on the sofa. She had begun to avoid the table, afraid of what Sherlock could be experimenting with. After she cleaned up after dinner, Christine curled up on the sofa and fell asleep. She didn't wake when the duo arrived home. The two left her where she was and went to their respective rooms. Sherlock had quickly solved the case Lestrade had called him for. He would be bored again by morning.

Sherlock was the first one awake the next morning. He sat in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin, watching the young woman on the sofa sleep. He took in her appearance in silence. She was still wearing John's clothes; her chocolate brown hair cascaded down over the throw pillow her head rested upon. Her chest steadily rose and fell' her hand hung down over the side of the sofa, fingers barely brushing the floor. Sherlock didn't mind her much, at times she served as a good substitute for John. She didn't bother him when he was thinking or question him often. When she spoke to him she was almost always friendly and kind, despite what he'd said to her. What he did mind was the strange feelings he experienced around her. Trying to explain the feelings wasn't easy, but Sherlock continued his attempts even though he didn't understand why.

The door swung open and John entered the sitting room. He raised an eyebrow at the detective, wondering what he was doing. He was eyeing Christine like she was a piece of meat.

"Whatever you're thinking about doing: no."

"Who said I was thinking about doing anything?" he replied, snapping back into reality.

"The look you had on your face gave you away, Sherlock. Why are you watching her sleep anyway?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Trying to figure something out. It's not really important."

"Er…if you say so…. I've got to work today so you and Christine are on your own."

The detective groaned audibly, not particularly wanting to be left alone with her. She'd never done or said anything to drive him away; the strange feelings prevented him from enjoying the silence she provided him.

"What? Why'd you make that noise? She doesn't do anything to cross you that I know of."

Sherlock sighed, "I know…"

The doctor didn't understand what his flatmate was talking about at all. He shrugged and left the room to get ready for work, deciding to pick up breakfast on the way. He found himself wondering how Sherlock felt about Christine's continued presence in the flat. There was a possibility that she aroused the detective's interest and judging by the way he had been staring at her that was the case. Little did John know, Sherlock was formulating a plan, an experiment, in his brilliant mind; this experiment would completely disrupt life in the flat as they knew it and not even Sherlock Holmes would see it coming. The slumbering body before him twitched and rolled over, landing on the floor with a loud thud. Sherlock grinned and walked off to the kitchen to examine one of his many experiments.

Christine groaned and sat up slowly, wondering how she'd gotten on the floor. She could hear Sherlock banging about in the kitchen and quickly decided not to ask him what he was doing. She got to her feet and slowly ambled toward the kitchen. Upon catching sight of the tall man with the tousled dark hair, Christine smiled. The woman was, of course, attracted to him, but she would have to make a difficult choice. Sherlock and John were both appealing, but one could give her things the other could not.

"Where's John?" she asked groggily.

"Work." Sherlock answered, keeping his eyes glued to his microscope.

"Don't wanna work, Sherlock…"

The detective sighed and cast a glance at her. He found himself unable to look away. Her disheveled dark hair and sleep expression made him smile (for what reason he didn't know). "Christine, I meant John went to work." he said as gently as he possibly could. She made a sound that expressed her disinterest and ambled back to the sofa.

A few minutes after she went back to the sofa, Sherlock heard the telly click on. The channels flicked for a bit before landing on a news programme.

"By the way, Sherlock, someone was here last night." He heard her say.

"Who?" he asked, not entirely interested.

"Mycroft."

He perked up immediately at the mention of his older brother. He stopped what he was doing with the experiment and walked into the sitting room.

"What did he say?"

"Not too much. He was intimidating, but polite nonetheless."

"What did he want?" Sherlock asked, getting irritated.

"He wanted information on you."

"Did he offer you money?"

"No, Sherlock."

"Then what did he offer you?"

Christine sighed and shook her head. She didn't quite understand why he was so upset. She watched him glower at her for a bit before she answered him.

"Protection; that's what he offered me." she answered, though her answer did nothing to calm the detective. "I didn't accept his offer, Sherlock. I don't understand why this is making you so unhappy."

Sherlock slumped down into his chair and pouted for a while. Christine watched him with a smile on her face; she still thought pouting Sherlock was adorable.

That day, Christine found out just how long Sherlock could pout. It was still cute, but she began to think that Mycroft's visit wasn't the only thing bothering him. His eyes would follow her around the room if she moved; Sherlock studied her movements and the curves of her body as she walked about the flat, just as he had when she was asleep on the couch. To him, she was the most fascinating thing in the flat at that moment. The detective wanted to propose his experiment to her then because he wished to know what was so attractive about her that made his body rebel against his brilliant mind, but reconsidered, as he knew well that it would be prudent to get closer to her and earn her trust. Sherlock knew that she did trust him to a certain extent, but before his experiment was proposed to her, he needed her to trust him completely.

She could feel eyes on her all morning. It made her feel like something being studied under a microscope. After a while she began to feel uncomfortable. _What does he want? _she asked herself, _Why is he looking at me that way?_ Sherlock must have noticed her discomfort because he retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him and ignoring her for a few hours.

Those hours did not pass quickly for Christine. There was nothing for her to do except watch telly and attempt to play Sherlock's violin again, but he had hidden the violin since last time she had attempted to play it. She could hear no sound from the detective and began to wonder if he was all right. When 1 o' clock in the afternoon came around, John called. He was on his lunch break and wanted to make sure everything was okay at Baker Street.

"Well, he's not destroyed anything that I know of, but he has locked himself in his room…" Christine said as Sherlock re-entered the sitting room. "Oh…never mind, John, here he is." She said, holding the phone out to the tall man. He took it out of her hand, obviously still in a bad mood.

_This simply cannot have been caused by his brother's visit…at least, it wouldn't have caused all this…" she thought. _Christine found herself wanting to hug Sherlock and mentally slapped herself, "He would throw you out of the flat for doing such a thing." she said quietly to herself, her head hanging slightly. Despite all of that, she still wanted to hug him; Christine still wanted to show him she cared.


	5. Chapter 5

Christine hated the cold. What's more, she hated going out in it. What she did enjoy was going to the local clubs and getting out of 221B for a while. Being kept inside with the sociopath for extended periods of time was beginning to wear on her. She liked Sherlock, there was no doubt about that, but she could not be around him all the time or he would surely drive her mad. While she enjoyed the clubs, John hated them. He hated letting her go alone, but did not argue when she insisted. He could not help but be sweet to her to make up for some of Sherlock's rude remarks. He knew Sherlock drove her crazy and often made a game of getting on her nerves, so John let her go.

One night, though, when she did not return at her usual time, John began to get worried. Sherlock, on the other hand, wasn't concerned; he had other things to think about. John picked up his phone and sent her a text:

_Where are you? –JW_

_In a cab. Why? –CL_

_Are you on the way here? –JW_

_Yes. John, what's wrong? –CL_

_It's late. You're usually back by now. –JW_

_I was being followed. I've lost them now, so I'm on my way. Calm down. And before you ask, I'm fine. _

–_CL_

John calmly placed his mobile on the table and sat in silence with the detective until he heard a cab pull up outside.

All Christine wanted to do was curl up in John's bed and go to sleep, but when she saw John waiting for her at the top of the stairs she knew that wasn't going to happen for a while. After a few minutes of being interrogated by the doctor and seeing Sherlock in his chair with at smug look plastered on his face, she wanted to smack one of them.

"John, I'm here and I'm unharmed. Why are you still so worked up? I had to deal with being followed all the time back in the states." she said. Christine knew that John was merely concerned for her safety, but she wanted him to understand what she'd dealt with every day for two years before she left the U.S.

"Why didn't you call us? We could have helped you?"

"Maybe I didn't want your help! Maybe I dealt with this every day for two years! You don't know what it was like, John; you weren't there for me then. No one was there to help me then… I was on my own and I had to figure out how to get by on my own and survive another day. When we started talking, John, I felt better. I felt like someone could see through my mask and actually cared; I felt like I finally had a friend. That's why I came, John."

Now, Sherlock was staring at her and John was looking down at his feet. Sherlock was interested by her outburst and what she had said.

"Why didn't you tell anyone what was happening?" Sherlock asked, even though he had a theory.

Christine's eyes immediately shifted to him; she was surprised he'd said anything. "Um…well, no one would believe me. You really think I didn't try to tell anyone? I did. There was no one in the world who believed a word I said until I met John. I came to him because I knew I'd be safe with him. He believes me… You believe me too, don't you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock made a non-committal sound and went back to ignoring them.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed…" she said softly as she left the room. Christine quickly made her way up to John's room and lay face down on his bed, feeling terrible about the way she'd spoken to John.

That night, he didn't go up to bed; he was more than a little hurt by what she'd said. John woke up on the sofa and rubbed his stiff neck. Though he was apprehensive, he went up to his room to change his clothes. He tried to keep quiet, but when he heard Christine mumbling his name in her sleep he couldn't help himself. He began to chuckle softly and lightly touched her arm. John remembered that he was supposed to be upset with her, but hearing her say his name over and over again was too much to resist. He heard the words 'forgive me' fall from her lips and smiled.

"I do, Christine. I do forgive you."

Sherlock sat in his room, composing music on his violin. He was bored and had nothing better to do than to compose. But this time his composition was different; this time he was thinking about the girl upstairs. She was unhappy. Normally, he wouldn't care, but for some reason he did care and that bothered him. Some part of him hated seeing her upset. He wanted to delete it, but his brain wouldn't let him. That was another thing that irritated him. When it came to her his hard drive refused to comply. Such an infuriating nuisance she was turning out to be. Sherlock could faintly hear laughter from upstairs now. She was awake and being friendly with the doctor again. John would go in to work soon and he would be alone with Christine again, but this time Sherlock would propose his experiment. It would be a difficult subject with her; Sherlock, thought, would not be as difficult about it. He didn't understand why normal people became so embarrassed and defensive when talking about personal matters.

Sherlock found Christine sitting in his chair watching telly. She was bored and obviously had nothing better to do. She didn't look in his direction; he began to wonder why. He had become accustomed to the cheerful greeting she normally gave him when he entered the room.

"Christine," he said, hoping the sound of her name would get her attention, "has John left for work?"

"About five minutes ago."

"Can you make a cup of tea for me?"

"Do it yourself, Sherlock, I'm busy."

"No you're not. You're sitting there watching telly."

"I'm thinking. I thought someone as brilliant as you would be able to figure that out. Now make your own damn tea!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, thinking of replying with something snarky. After a few seconds he turned at walked off, deciding that it wasn't worth his time or attention.

A pair of eyes watched Sherlock from the sitting room; she knew he could feel her eyes on him. He was waiting for the kettle, purposely keeping his back to her to hide the smirk on his lips. He had known that she would watch him. What he didn't expect was what she did next. Christine had approached him in silence (and had an advantage because his back was turned) and seized him by the shoulders, turning him around to face her.

"What are you doing?" he asked, actually surprised by something.

"I'm doing something very stupid…" she answered. "Sherlock, I'm sorry."

Despite the height difference she leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his Cupid's bow lips. She knew he'd probably shove her off and lecture her and remind her that he considered himself married to his work. When he didn't she was confused.

Sherlock froze. He didn't know what he was supposed to do or what she expected him to do. As he had explained to John, relationships (and anything to do with them) were not his area. He knew he should push her away and lecture her into oblivion, but he didn't. The wheels in his head turned and registered the sensations he was experiencing; he found that the kiss actually felt nice, though he struggled to admit it. When Christine pulled away from him and darted up to John's room, Sherlock made his way to his chair and plopped down in it. He could hear her pacing the floor nervously and muttering to herself. _What do I do after that?_ He asked himself. _What do I say? I should be angry…Why am I not angry? _Sherlock's thoughts ran like that for hours, rapid firing questions that he could not answer. That's how John found him when he arrived back to the flat that evening. The kettle was still on having been forgotten long ago.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked as he cleaned up another of the detective's messes. Sherlock's eyes shifted to look at John and the detective shrugged his shoulders. "Anything happen while I was gone?"

Sherlock's lips twisted into a half-grin, "Something very interesting happened."

"Well? Go ahead, tell me about it."

"Christine kissed me today."

John shook his head in disbelief, "I'm sorry, what?"

Sherlock gave him a 'you heard me' look.

"What'd she do that for?" John asked.

"Not sure… still trying to work that out."

The doctor left the room and bounded up the stairs. He meant to change and have a word with Christine.


	6. Chapter 6

John found Christine pouting on his bed and sighed. He stood her up and hugged her, but didn't say anything. She didn't need to hear him preach at her; she knew what she did was incredibly stupid. The only thing that was even stranger about the entire ordeal was the fact that Sherlock wasn't angry about it. The detective seemed more interested than anything else. That's what irritated John. His attitude would only serve to encourage her and as soon as Sherlock completed whatever experiment he'd since formulated he would just stop paying attention to her, and John knew how much that would hurt her. He felt her hands lightly touch his waist and smiled. He couldn't bring himself to say anything about the kiss she'd given Sherlock; he knew she'd probably been berating herself for it since it happened.

"He's not upset with you, you know. He's just very curious at the moment. I actually don't think he understands." he said, trying to make her feel better. It didn't seem to work.

"I'm sorry, John."

"Why? Why are you sorry?" he asked softly, lifting her face up to look at her face.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I know Sherlock. All I would be to him is another experiment. He could never feel anything for me; he can't feel anything in regards to emotion if you ask him."

John shook his head, "He has more feelings than you think he does. He's still human; he's just a human who ignores his feelings. Sociopath, remember?"

"Yeah… Don't know what I should do, John."

"Maybe you could see what a normal man could give you before giving yourself over to the sociopath downstairs."

"Normal man? Like who?"

"Maybe…um…well," John cleared his throat, "me?"

Christine stepped back from him in surprise, "You want to go on a date with me? Get involved with me?"

"Well yeah, but only if you want to…" he replied, quickly tacking on the end bit in his nervousness. What she said next, though, made his heart skip a beat,

"That would make me very happy, John, but you're anything but normal."

Christine grinned up at him and hugged him tight. She noticed that his mouth was hanging open and laughed; she'd never seen him so surprised. It was almost as cute as Sherlock's pouting.

For days, Christine and Sherlock shared awkward silences (well, they were awkward for Christine) and brief eye contact; they only spoke when it was absolutely necessary, which Sherlock probably would have done anyway. Sherlock, of course, read her like a book and knew she felt uncomfortable around him now (for what reason he didn't understand). John had been in a very chipper mood. Sherlock chalked it up to a new relationship; a girl he had not met yet, but undoubtedly would by the end of the month. John and Christine were doing a fine job of keeping their dates a secret, but Sherlock would catch on eventually, he always did. Without a case to occupy his mind, Sherlock got bored. He would either: watch and deduce the pair or he would work with an experiment that involved explosive or dangerous chemicals, or he would lock himself in his room with his violin. Any way it happened, it was his way of trying to get attention or clear the flat for a while, possibly the latter.

Every chance he got, which just happened to be every time Sherlock wasn't looking or wasn't home, John would give Christine a soft kiss. If the detective was suspicious he never said anything to them. It was a Thursday night when Sherlock was called by Lestrade to help with a case. He had insisted upon going alone, something that made John a little suspicious, and left the doctor and Christine by themselves.

"So, what should we do?" she asked, a mischievous smile forming on her face. John shrugged and flipped through the channels on the telly until he landed on one of the reality programmes Sherlock always yelled at.

"You want to go out for dinner?" He shrugged again.

"You want to go for a walk?" Again, John responded with a shrug.

"You want to… Damn it, John!" she exclaimed, finally getting irritated. "I'm bored."

"Not even Sherlock nags me like this…" he mumbled.

"I'm not nagging, John, I'm bored as hell. If you really think I'm nagging I will leave you alone and go catch up with Sherlock."

John looked at her, suddenly realizing that she was serious. He sighed and shook his head, "No, I'm sorry. I'm just thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

"Some of the things I'm feeling."

"Tell me what you're feeling, John. Please?" she asked, always a bit concerned whenever those words came up in a conversation. Christine sat on the arm of the chair he was in for a moment before letting herself slide back into his lap.

John sighed and wrapped his arms around her, not really knowing how to explain the feeling he was experiencing. He felt her head resting against his shoulder and smiled; that's when it hit him. He loved her. He'd felt lust before, but this feeling was stronger and made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He felt her arms wind around his neck and pull him closer (if that were possible) and his heart leapt. John could feel her start to nip and suck at his neck, searching for a sensitive spot. It took her a few minutes, but she found the sensitive patch of skin just below John's left ear. Christine grinned when she heard him gasp. At this rate, John would never get to explain how he felt, and he knew it. If Christine was going to take the time to get him in the mood he wouldn't reject her, though. One thing on his mind was when Sherlock would arrive back at the flat. The last thing John wanted was to be caught being intimate with Christine; he wasn't sure that Sherlock would enjoy the experience too much either.

"How far is this going to go?" he asked.

"How far do you want it to go, John?" she answered, gently nibbling the tender spot she'd found.

Sherlock was irritated. He was at the Yard without John, sifting through a case file. He wanted John there; he'd tried to call the blogger, but he wouldn't answer. Texts didn't get his attention either. The detective had even been desperate enough to try Christine. He didn't understand why neither of them would answer, but he had his theories. He just hoped they weren't fooling around in his chair. Sherlock, extremely annoyed by now, rang John again. To his surprise, John answered. The doctor's voice was shaking and his breathing was rough and uneven, and Sherlock was not in the least bit surprised. They thought he hadn't noticed, but he had; he had noticed their "secret" dates, the kisses behind his back. He thought they'd honestly forgotten that he could always tell.

When john got off the phone with Sherlock he began to laugh. He hugged the petite woman in his lap. She was curled up on him comfortably with her face resting in the crook of his neck. He was sure she was awake, but didn't like the idea of being made to move. She gently nuzzled his neck and smiled. He heard her whisper something, but he couldn't quite understand it.

"What was that?" he asked softly. Christine lifted her head and looked into his sparkling eyes.

"I said, 'I love you, John.'"

John gave her a gentle kiss and rested his forehead against hers. "I love you too, Christine. That's the only way to describe how I've been feeling."

"Oh, John…" she whispered, feeling extremely giddy.

"I've heard that quite a lot in the past hour." he said with a laugh.

"What did Sherlock want?"

"He wants me to go down to the Yard." John replied, helping her to her feet and beginning to get dressed.

"Can I come too? I get so bored when I'm here alone."

John smiled, "Sherlock might have a fit, but yeah, I'll let you come with me."

Sherlock felt like he'd been waiting for hours when John finally arrived. He groaned aloud at the sight of Christine, not too pleased to see her. Lestrade and John seemed to be the only ones pleased to have her around.

"John, why did you bring her?"

"She wanted to come, Sherlock. What was I supposed to tell her?"

"Tell her 'no,' John! She'll just get in the way."

Christine cleared her throat and glared up at Sherlock. John placed a hand on her shoulder; Lestrade stood in the background with his arms crossed over his chest snickering.

"Do you really think I'll get in the way, Sherlock?" she asked with a sickeningly sweet tone in her voice.

"Yes, I do." he answered, enjoying the fact that he was getting on her nerves.

"Well, that's too bad," she said as she removed the detective's scarf and wrapped it around her neck, "because you're stuck with me."

John was surprised. He'd not expected her to be so mild. Lestrade, on the other hand, was barely able to contain his laughter. Sherlock, though, looked like he was on the verge of throwing a world class fit. No one had ever been bold enough to remove his beloved scarf in a situation like that unless they were trying to strangle him with it. Christine was playing with the scarf and smiling up at Sherlock, teasing him and making his temper worse. Lestrade stopped laughing long enough to remove Christine from the room upon John's request.

"Let me just tell you, that was brilliant." He said as soon as they were separated by the office door.

"You think so?"

"Of course! I don't think anyone's done that to him before. Got his attention, I'm sure."

"Thank you, Inspector. I would say that I hope he thinks before he speaks next time, but I know he won't. A lot of what pops into that head of his comes out of his mouth."

"Don't I know it… He gets the job done though. And, you can call me Greg."

"Thank you, Greg." Christine said, grinning. "He acts strange sometimes. Is that normal?"

"Depends. What does he do that's strange?"

"Sometimes he'll stare at me. It gets creepy after a while."

"Yeah, that might be normal. He does some odd things when he thinks. Are you…uh…interested in him?"

"Well, no I don't suppose I am, but I did kiss him once. That was foolish of me, but it was fun."

Lestrade looked at her, clearly shocked by what she'd just admitted. Christine laughed when she saw the surprised look on his face. It was almost exactly the look Sherlock had worn when it happened. "Oh, Greg, don't look at me that way. It isn't like he was upset by it at all."

"Have you talked about it?"

"Sherlock will have deleted the experience by now. The information is useless to him so why should he keep it?"

Christine didn't know it, but she was wrong. Sherlock hadn't deleted the memory of her kiss and the information was useful to him, it was just useful in a different way. He was watching her through the door of Lestrade's office, noticing the way her smile faltered when she talked about it. He thought that maybe he would talk to her about it eventually, not understanding what either of them would want to discuss it. Maybe it would make her feel better; he didn't understand why he would want to make her feel better either. While Sherlock watched Christine, John watched Sherlock. The doctor was wondering what he was thinking, but didn't ask. Sherlock probably knew he had questions and was choosing to ignore him.

He's doing it again, Greg…"

"What?" the inspector asked, confused.

"He's staring at me right now from your office." she replied, flicking her eyes toward the door.

Greg cast a quick glance at the detective who was, in fact, peeking through the window to look at her. The look he was giving her wasn't angry like it should have been; the look he was giving her was his curious look. The inspector had seen that look before, but the person who was on the receiving end of it was rarely alive to witness it. He couldn't explain it, but he could hardly ever explain anything Sherlock did.

As the evening wore on, Sherlock and John went out to investigate. Christine hung around with Lestrade for a while, and then went back to Baker Street for the night.


	7. Chapter 7

Warning: Here there be explicit sexual situations!

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything but my OCs.

Once again, Sherlock and Christine were left alone. They didn't speak to each other; Christine knew most of everything he would have to say. He was a sociopath and wouldn't have understood why any of it upset her. She could feel him watching her. It was incredibly unnerving to know that she was being observed by a bored sociopath.

"Stop it." He said suddenly, the sound of his voice making her jump.

"Stop what?"

"Worrying. It's annoying."

"Sorry…"

"Stop that as well."

"I didn't do anything!"

"You apologized again. It's-"

"Annoying. Yes, I know. I'll stop, Sherlock."

"Thank you."

Christine and Sherlock looked at each other, not quite knowing what to do. Sherlock relocated to the seat beside her, looking down at her curiously. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but was cut off by a kiss the moment she opened her mouth. In one quick movement his lips were against hers and moving gently. Christine froze for a moment, wondering what had just happened, and then began to respond and move her lips with his. Sherlock was inexperienced, but he was definitely a good kisser. He felt a hand weave its way into his dark curls; he felt a warm hand touch his chest. Even he was surprised at the response he was getting. Christine may have been with John, even loved him, but there was no question now that she felt something for Sherlock.

Of course, Christine knew that she shouldn't be allowing him to kiss her in that way and that she definitely shouldn't be enjoying it, but she couldn't help it. He tasted faintly of mint and something she thought might be cinnamon, a taste that made her shudder. She felt him inch closer and lean her back slightly; her back hit the arm of the sofa and she sighed, a pleasant feeling pulsing through her. But, Christine wasn't the only one enjoying the situation. Sherlock was doing his best to suppress the moan that had bubbled up from his chest and threatened to burst from his mouth at any moment. Christine pulled away from him and looked up into his silver-grey eyes, "This is wrong, Sherlock. If John ever found out it would break his heart. I admit that I do feel for you and I want you, but I'm with John and I love him. I don't want to hurt him, Sherlock. Wait…was this just another of your little experiments?"

Sherlock looked at her, still slightly on top of her, "I was curious. You have just proved to me what I suspected in the first place, but I'm still curious. No, I don't classify this as an experiment, Christine."

Christine began to play with his hair absentmindedly and smiled, "I don't know what you're curious about, but if I can help you out let me know."

Sherlock sniffed inwardly at the thought of asking for her help, but knew he would have to eventually. He allowed her to give him another quick kiss and leapt from the sofa and back to his chair.

Sherlock had moved just in time. John arrived home from work moments after Sherlock returned to his spot across the room. Despite what had just occurred, the detective looked flawless and unruffled. Christine shook her head and grinned; that was typical Sherlock. John didn't suspect a thing. He kissed Christine 'hello' and greeted Sherlock afterwards, plopping himself down on the sofa in the process. Christine and John talked over what had gone on that day while Sherlock watched, silently wondering if she would mention the kiss. He was certain that she wouldn't; she wasn't as stupid as he had once thought, after all. She leaned over to whisper in the doctor's ear; John seemed to like whatever it was that she had said because his eyes lit up and it was painfully obvious that he was holding himself back from dragging her up the stairs.

Sherlock was strangely quiet that evening, deep in thought. There were so many things he wanted to understand about the woman in John's arms that he couldn't without her help. The fact that she was in a relationship with John complicated matters; he did not want to drive away his only friend. Sherlock watched Christine snuggled into John, remembering every detail of what they had done. He could recall perfectly the softness of her lips and the slight taste of vanilla, the warmth of her hand on his chest and the feeling of her fingertips massaging his scalp. It was one of the most pleasant feelings Sherlock Holmes had experienced in his lifetime and he secretly wanted to feel it again.

John had a strange feeling in his gut that told him something was wrong. Sherlock was acting the same as he always did, but he was often caught staring at the woman John cared so much for. John didn't really think that Sherlock would do anything, but he never knew. The doctor eventually went upstairs, Christine not far behind. Even though she had wanted to go up to bed for a while, but she hadn't wanted to go up without John; that night she wouldn't have liked his bed without him in it. The moment the door to his bedroom was closed, she had him up against the door, lips against his. Her kisses were rough and needy. John grinned inwardly, thoroughly enjoying his situation.

Sherlock ignored the sounds coming from above him. He was busy going over the events of that day in his mind. He could hear Christine, but only just. The sounds irritated him slightly, but he did not want to admit jealousy. That seemed to be above him. Up in the bedroom, it was all Christine could do not to call out for Sherlock. John Watson was a fantastic lover and she did truly love him, but tonight was the detective's fault. Sherlock was the one who had gotten her so hot and bothered. John made her feel great in every way he possibly could, but now even she was curious. She could vividly remember when she'd said Sherlock would get curious he remembered as well, positively hating that she had been right. Christine could feel John shaking above her and hear his ragged breathing. The two sounds helped snap her back into reality.

John rested his head on Christine's shoulder, still shaking slightly. Christine was grinning and running her fingers through his short hair. They didn't say anything; they didn't need to. At that moment in time they were both content to lie there in each other's arms. The two eventually fell asleep where they were. Around 2 AM the silence of the early morning was pierced by the sound of a mournful violin. Christine opened her eyes at the sound of it and held her doctor closer. She looked down at him, watching him snuggle closer in his sleep. He looked so peaceful when he slept; he was warm and gentle even in his sleep

John was smiling before he even opened his eyes. Light was streaming through the window and the arms of a beautiful woman were around him; he didn't want to get up. He could hear Christine's gentle breathing and hear the steady beat of her heart. It was a beautiful sound. He was a woman that Sherlock could not drive away no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't seem to be trying to get rid of her. John gently placed a kiss on her shoulder. He stayed in her arms until she opened her eyes and started running her fingers through his hair again.

"Morning." He said, smiling sleepily.

"Sleep well, John?"

"Oh, yes I did. I just wonder if Sherlock got any sleep."

"If he did it wasn't much. He was up playing his violin early this morning."

In the months that she had been with them, Christine had learned Sherlock's odd habits. She was quite used to hearing his violin early in the morning, but never before had she heard him play a tune so depressing. To that tune her mind had drifted and John seemed to notice that her thoughts were elsewhere. He held her close, letting her head rest on his chest. Christine ghosted her fingertips over her doctor's chest and sighed. She could feel his warm hand resting at the small of her back, a pleasant feeling.

"When he played he sounded sad, John. I don't know why, but I wish I did. For all we know something could be bothering him."

"Christine, you know how he gets. If something is on his mind he'll deal with it himself."

"He doesn't like to admit that he has human weaknesses."

"Exactly. If it's bad enough he'll say something eventually. Come on, let's enjoy the quiet morning while it lasts."

Christine smiled up at John and rested her head on his shoulder. She traced her fingers gently over the scar on the shoulder opposite her, feeling him flinch as she touched it; she quickly withdrew her hand. He reached up and took her hand, and kissed it lightly.

"It's all right. It's just a little sensitive. Doesn't hurt, though, if that's what you thought."

She wondered how he knew exactly what words would put her at ease. Christine liked his scar. While that might have seemed strange to some, his scar represented one of the reasons they had met in the first place; without it the two would have never been brought together.

"Do you mind if I touch it, John?"

He let go of her hand and nodded, allowing her to ghost her fingers over the sensitive flesh. He shuddered at her touch, wondering why the experience excited him. Christine mapped the surface of the twisted scar with her fingers for a few minutes, and then replaced her fingers with her lips and tongue. She straddled his waist and traced her tongue around the edge of her love's defect, and covered it with loving kisses.

Hearing the breathy moans and sighs her kisses elicited from John, she grinned. Christine felt the doctor's cock twitch and harden beneath her. _Look at you, John. You're enjoying it; you like it when I worship that scar of yours. You say it's "a little sensitive" but that's an understatement isn't it?_ she thought, looking up and staring into his eyes. He was wide-eyed and obviously aroused. John opened his mouth to speak; Christine put a finger to his lips and kept him quiet. A devilish grin formed on her lips as she slid down his torso, delighting in the fact that he had not put on any clothing since last night. She placed light kisses on the insides of his thighs and anywhere but where John wanted her to put her lips.

"Please…"

"Please what, John?"

"Please…_please_ touch me. Put your mouth on me, _oh God_, please."

Christine grinned, "As you wish..." She slipped his now fully erect cock into her mouth to the hilt. He bit his knuckles to keep from groaning too loud and getting the attention of the other residents of the building. Christine looked up at him; they gazed into each other's eyes as she bobbed her head up and down. To John, it was an extremely erotic sight that sent waves of pleasure through him. It had been quite a while since he'd been serviced and he was thoroughly enjoying it.

Christine slid his cock out of her mouth with a soft _pop_. She wrapped her hand around the thick, pulsing organ and stroked it, moving her hand quickly.

"_Oh_! C-Christine…"

She looked down at him, a pleasantly strange fire burning in her eyes, "Oh, John, look at you. All this just from me touching and loving your beautiful imperfection. Do you know what it does to me, John? Seeing you like this? It makes me so hot; I'm so hot for you right now, John."

His response came in the form of a desperate whine that conveyed the need for more. Christine smiled at him for a moment before giving him what he wanted. She flicked her tongue over the sensitive head, ran her thumb roughly over the tip. His prick was weeping precum, which she licked off of him; it tasted semi-sweet.

"John, _oh_, my John, will you do something for me?"

The doctor, who seemed to be beyond words, nodded; he was breathing heavily, his head was swimming, and he had almost no idea what he was agreeing to.

"I want you to fuck my mouth, John. Control me."

He nodded and fisted his hand in her hair. She maneuvered his cock back into her mouth and gave control of her body to John. He roughly shoved her head down and brought it back up; he made her take him deep into her mouth, to the back of her throat. He never realized how good she was at suppressing her gag reflex, another turn on for him.

A low, throaty groan from Christine that vibrated along his cock made him thrust upwards. She reached up and took his free hand, squeezing lightly.

"Oh…_oh! Christine_, I'm going to-_Oh!_" he cried as he thrust her head down once more and spilled his seed into her throat. John could hear the soft mewling sound she made as she swallowed his cum; when she lifted her head she looked incredibly pleased and sated. Christine kissed him gently and rested her head on his shoulder again.

"I love you, John Watson." she whispered, not really knowing if he heard.

"I love you, Christine Long." he replied, gently kissing her forehead. Christine groaned when her phone went off. She snatched it from the beside table and looked at the text.

_If you two are quite finished, I would like you to come down. Just you, Christine. –SH_

A look of "oh, shit, what did I do" crossed her face for a split second, but disappeared quickly. She rose from the bed and donned the dressing gown she'd stolen from Sherlock ages ago. "John, love, I'm going to make some tea. You rest for a bit, I'll call you when it's ready." she kissed his cheek and made her way downstairs. Sherlock was waiting for her, and he was already making tea.

"Well? You've dragged me out of bed. What is it?"

Sherlock looked irritated with something; he didn't speak. Christine looked deep into his silver-gray eyes. She was concerned about him. Normally, Sherlock wasn't hesitant to tell her what he wanted, but now he was for some reason. Finally he fixed her with a piercing stare, a stare in which she saw a hint of fear and disquiet.

"Help me…"


End file.
